


Sometimes Goodbye is Better Than See You Soon

by badgerling



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Starkcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerling/pseuds/badgerling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the unsaid goodbyes can be the best and the worst thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Goodbye is Better Than See You Soon

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rae for the beta. All remaining mistakes are on me, not her.
> 
> HBO owns the show, GRRM owns the source material. No infringement is intended.

The heat in the walls of Winterfell only makes sweat bead on his back under his leather as Jon pushes Robb against the wall. Jon's fingers move quickly, his face close to Robb's as they find their way through hooks and layers and underthings to press cold tips against the warm skin of Robb's hip. It's a touch that made goosebumps spread across his skin under his clothes, always had, probably always would.

Robb's breath still catches at the touch, his hand moving to Jon's wrist, and when Jon pulls back, only slightly, eyes questioning, even as he keeps his hand where it is. His fingers brush across Robb's skin, tracing the dip of Robb's hipbone with his thumb. "Door's open," Robb says finally, even though a deeply buried part wanted to tell Jon to stop, that they were too old for this sort of thing anymore, they weren't children sharing a bed, flush with hormones. That they became too old for this when smooth skin transitioned to hard muscle, when they came of age, when their father started searching for a wife good enough for the future lord of Winterfell.

But all Robb can really do is remind Jon of the open door.

Jon only takes his eyes off of Robb for a moment, sparing a brief look at the door before turning back with a shake of his head. "Father's away. Off with the King." Like he had been so many times since the royal family had arrived in the North. Old war horses telling old war stories, but before Robb opens his mouth to counter that with actual logic, that they aren't alone in the castle, Jon's hand slides more firmly along Robb's hip, making his hold more secure.

Robb's eyes flicker, not quite closing, as he says, "Mother isn't," and Catelyn Stark would likely kill her husband's bastard if she caught them like this. Robb can see that knowledge pass over Jon's face as he pulls away, slowly, reluctant to actually take his hands off of his brother. Robb can still feel Jon's touch, like a cold burning from his hip to pool in his stomach making his dick throb and harden as he watches Jon shut and bolt the door. Robb needs to focus on anything but the way Jon moves, focus on anything but the mix of hot and cold that Jon's touch inspires, but all he can do is concentrate on the little things, like removing his cloak and letting it fall to the floor just as Jon returns.

Jon's fingers don't return to their spot on Robb's hips, moving instead to the fastenings of Robb's trousers. They can't undress, not completely, not when anyone from family to royalty could come knocking on the door, but that doesn't matter, not really, and Jon's hands are sure and certain as they slip under trousers and underclothes to wrap around Robb's hardness.

And once again, cold fingers against heated skin make Robb's breath catch in his throat.

Somewhere between the door and Robb, Jon had dropped his own cloak, something Robb only noticed when Jon dropped to his knees, and when Robb's hands fell onto Jon's shoulders, and he only found shirt fabric and leather, not heavy fur. He looks down his body, swallowing hard when his eyes meet Jon's. There's no protest that Robb think of, and none that he wants to make, not when Jon pushes Robb's clothes down, not completely, but enough to bare his skin and his cock to the cooler air of the room.

Jon is still looking up at him, still holding his gaze as he trails his thumb along Robb's erection, from tip to the base, tracing the vein that pulses with his heartbeat, and it's a movement that makes Robb press back against the wall, shoulders flat, fingers digging into the stone, even as his hips push forward. The sound he makes is soft, pleading, not trusting his voice because if he did speak, it would be to beg. And future lords of Winterfell didn't beg.

He considers rethinking that the second he feels Jon's mouth, lips, and tongue teasing the head of his cock. The feeling is impossibly warm as Jon takes him deeper, and the sensation of Jon swallowing around him as Robb leaks down his throat, that makes Robb groan. Loud enough that he worries, that he clasps one hand over his mouth just in case the walls of Winterfell aren't thick enough. That makes Jon laugh, the sound rumbling across Robb's skin, around his dick, making him bite the flesh of his palm to keep from shouting.

His other hand comes down, tangling in Jon's hair, fingers curling and tugging as Jon begins to move, taking Robb deeper and swallowing more of him as he does. Robb lets his other hand fall away from his mouth, tangling it in Jon's curls as Jon moves back, tongue tracing the vein now before taking him completely again. Jon sets up a rhythm then, not too fast or too hard or too slow, drawing this out, teasing Robb, even as he pushes him closer and closer to the edge.

Robb is lost in it. In the heat and the wetness, in the feeling of Jon's hair in his hands, of Jon's hands moving from his hips to his backside, grabbing hold of the skin hard enough to bruise. Robb's hips jerk at that, and Jon groans around him. That's permission if anything. Rob's fingers tighten, hard, in Jon's hair, and he uses that hold to draw Jon forward, to thrust harder and deeper even as Jon's hands urge Robb forward. It's the closest to actually fucking they'll ever get.

When Robb comes, spilling down Jon's throat, he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood and he sees nothing but white like a sudden blizzard. The thought of seeing nothing but snow after being sucked off by Jon Snow makes Robb laugh, and when his vision finally clears, he finds himself on the floor with Jon watching him, amused as he wipes come off his lower lip with his thumb. Before Jon can lick his finger clean, Robb touches his wrist.

"We can never do this again," Robb says, right before taking Jon's thumb into his mouth. At the flash of hurt in Jon's eyes, Robb shakes his head. "You're going to the Wall, you'll take a vow." Simple as that.

"A vow about marriage and children, neither of which is possible with us." Jon shakes his head, moving to his knees, hands bracing against the floor on either side of Robb's hips. "You'll be in Winterfell. They'll let me visit eventually."

Robb laughs again, softer this time. "You'll take a vow." It really is as simple as that because Jon is honorable and strangely literal, and sex with your half-brother still counts even if you're a bastard. Jon won't break a vow, and Robb's hands slide into Jon's hair again, pulling him down into a kiss.

Something deep and not brotherly and all Robb can taste is blood from his bitten lip, his own come, and Jon. He tries to pour the goodbyes he doesn't want to say into that kiss, the promises they can't keep because of future vows, and Robb remembers how little they actually see Uncle Benjen. But Robb tries to put all of that into one kiss.

He's not sure it works.


End file.
